


The 8th

by Mallend



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: AU, Other, Seventeen - Freeform, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 05:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16528148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mallend/pseuds/Mallend
Summary: A new bodyguard with a dangerous post and a foggy past, The8 is always on the alert. His life depends on it. But as he struggles to carry out his duty, he notices things that aren't lining up and he starts to wonder: if he's the eighth, what happened to the other seven? And is the same thing going to happen to him?





	The 8th

The room he woke up in was completely white. He tried to sit up, but he couldn't move. It wasn't like he was tied to the bed (was it a bed?). More like his muscles simply wouldn't respond. It was somewhat terrifying.

He could hear low voices in the room but he couldn't turn his head towards them and they were speaking too quietly for him to hear what they were saying.

He had to start with something. This emptiness was...unnerving. He tried to make a sound. Any sound would do. A squeak. Anything.

Nothing.

Who am I? That was an important thing to establish. Wasn't that what great philosophers always asked? My name... Oh! My name is—

"How are you feeling?" The voice was deep and warm. "It's alright. You can move again."

"Why am I here?" He could speak again and he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

"You were hurt while training. Remember?"

He sat up in the bed and looked at the man speaking to him. It was a middle-aged doctor - at least he looked like a doctor in a long white coat, holding a clipboard and pen while he smiled at his patient.

"Can you remember anything?"

He took a moment to look around at the room, taking in every detail, the computers, wires, tubes, and the doors - everything white. There had been someone else in the room before. Where had they gone? He kept his ears alert for any sound from behind either door while he prepared to answer the doctor. "I-I think it's coming back to me. I was hit on the head— I wasn't just hit on the head! They hit my legs, my ribs. I think they broke things. I think, I think...my lung?"

He closed his eyes and let the memories flood his mind, silently watching them play out in a confused jumble until they gradually smoothed out and the story became more coherent.

"I was attacked while I was training in a big room with cars and fake buildings and stuff."

"Yes, that's right," the doctor encouraged gently.

"I didn't see them come in...I don't think."

"If you'd seen them come in, would you have let them attack you?"

"Of course not." He was confused by the idea. "I must not have seen them. I still can't see them in my memories. I just remember getting hit. My legs, my ribs, my arms. It was too sudden for me to fight back. I tried to dodge, I think. I started coughing blood...that means something happened to my lung, right? Then I think they hit me on the head— How am I still alive?" He opened his eyes and looked up at the doctor.

"Well of course we would use very special technology and drugs for your recovery," the doctor assured him. "You're very important, The8."

"I assume that's also why they were attacking me. They didn't really have the decency to explain themselves. Although I suppose decency isn't really something you want to bring to a fight; it's a bit cumbersome."

The8 looked down at himself for the first time. He was wearing white and it was starting to make his head hurt. "Anyways, all that first-class tech and drugs means I'm ready to get started on my mission, right?"

The doctor laughed, "That's the spirit. You know, most people wouldn't be hopping at the chance to be a bodyguard to such a high profile individual as Soongjin."

"Well I don't know that they'd be hopping at the chance to stay here either," The8 replied with a lift of his eyebrows.

"Valid," the doctor chuckled. "Jun!" He called out.

The8 whipped his head around and saw the door in the wall behind him open and a young man in black dress pants and wrinkled white collar shirt unbuttoned at the top stepped out. The black pants were such a relief from the world of white and The8 could hardly look away from them. Jun ran a hand through his messy brown hair, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he grinned. "I'm here."

"The8 is ready to be released. I trust you sent the message I gave you already."

"Of course." Jun walked around the bed holding out his hand for the doctor's clipboard.

"Then take him down to the desk and get the paperwork sorted." The doctor handed over the clipboard.

The8 pushed himself off the bed and Jun tilted his head a little to indicate which door was the exit. The8 headed towards it without hesitation. The intense white of the room was starting to give him a headache. He stepped outside into a hallway tiled with gentle beige and brown tiles and a few potted plants in recesses in the wall. Some had flowers blooming and he drank in the color, standing quietly behind the door, all senses on high alert.

Then from inside the room he heard Jun say confusedly, "—something maybe went wrong?"

"We just can't know yet." The doctor's low voice sounded angry. "It's only the eighth."

"I understand."

A few seconds later Jun stepped out of the room clipboard in hand and smiled at The8. "Ready?"

"You know it."

They started walking down the hall.

"Feeling alright?" Jun asked. "You were a mess when they brought you in."

"Yeah, I'm fine. But how are you? How do you survive being in that room?"

Jun looked over at him, quirking an eyebrow. "What's wrong with it?"

"Everything's so white."

Jun laughed. "It has to be. That's how you can spot any irregularities, when everything is the same."

The8 bit back his questions. He didn't know what that conversation about something having gone wrong meant, but he didn't want to reveal that he felt differently than he was supposed to. "Oh, of course. Stupid of me."

"It's okay. You're probably just still recovering your memories."

"Probably."

He was pretty sure that was a lie.

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End file.
